


Starlight

by curiosa



Category: Peter Pan - J. M. Barrie
Genre: F/M, Gen, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-25
Updated: 2011-12-25
Packaged: 2017-10-28 03:09:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/303069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/curiosa/pseuds/curiosa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four times Neverland appeared to George Darling and refused to let him give up his dreams.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Starlight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Whisperslip](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whisperslip/gifts).



> A yuletide treat.

George Darling is six and a half years old, the half is important, the first time a shadow sneaks into his room in the night. It dances along his bedpost; throwing shadows across the light the candle makes and causing it to flicker in and out just like the pulse of his racing heart beat.

He hides under his covers for a second, listening to the loud snores of his older brother, Ben and peeking out from under the sheets to watch the shadow skip along the tip of the ceiling. It has a damn cheek, is what his Father would say, slinking up against the wall and brushing past his brother’s sleep ruffled duvet, on to the wardrobe and along the top of his chest of drawers, touching everything in sight with its inky limbs that seem to melt into the darkness.

Crawling down the length of his bed, George is careful to move silently, counting down the seconds in his head and waiting for the best moment to strike. Be a man, he thinks, head popping out from the warmth of his bed to hit the cool night breeze coming in from the window.

He strikes fast, arm reaching out and moving the rest of his body with him, leaping from his own bed and right onto the caterpillar lump of his brother, fingers passing through shadow as his hand wraps tight against what is sure to be its ankle.  


There’s a split second of absolute silence, a moment where all he can think is, I did it, the shadow waving in the air like a rough kite on a windy day before the groan of his brother fills the room loudly, a fist cuffs the bottom of his chin and George Darling ends up sprawled out flat on the floor, no shadow in his fist and the thick cough of a sob lining the back of his throat.  


“Grow up!” Growls Ben, tossing his covers over his head and sniffing.  


George shuffles himself back onto his feet, rubbing at his eyes and casing the room for a shadow he already knows has fled through the window.  


It won’t be until the morning when he finds stardust covering his hand, coating everything the shadow touched if you’re just willing to look hard enough.  


-  


His Mother used to read to them at night, stories from old books that smelled musty, had yellowed pages and always closed with a small cloud of dust. Her eyes alight as she took them to mermaids and deep lagoons, on swashbuckling adventures and to meet the prettiest of Princesses waiting to be rescued, the thoughts filling his head and melting out in his dreams.  


The books sit on the shelf now, forgotten, his brother having moved out of the nursery and onto adulthood, able to sit out later with their Father and talk about business whereas George is forced to go to bed, still a child. He tries to be older though, never making a fuss and refusing to be read to from what he now calls silly fantasies and delusions; the stories and adventures that used to wrap around him in sleep are just poppycock and drivel, meant to entertain far younger minds than his.  


His Mother kisses him once on the forehead that night, the softest breath blowing over his cheek as she tells him, “You’re growing up too fast.” Shutting off the light and drowning the room in darkness.  


It’s later that night, waking up from a restless sleep that George hears what can only be described as the echoing chants of a sea chantey. For a second he sits still wondering if something is wrong with his ears, shocked to open his eyes and watch as a pirate ship sails through the night stars.  


He runs to the window, hands perched like twin birds on the window pane as a pirate flag whips silently through the night air, watching until the ship soars out of sight, riding night winds like the waves of an ocean, his eyes burning from lack of sleep as he whispers the song long into the night and long after the ship has left his vision.  


a week afterwards he reads aloud from his Mother’s books, thinking of the pirate ship and that adventures and stories really aren’t as silly as his Father suggested.  


-

George is fifteen the first time he sees Mary, her hair curled up for a party, cheeks flushed from heat and lips the reddest he’s ever seen on a girl, waiting to be kissed.  


He’s been around girls before but never felt this sharp pang of wonder in his stomach. She’s beautiful, he thinks, knows, like starlight slipping through his fingers, watching as groups of boys swarm around her, naturally attracted every time she moves or smiles or laughs.  


It takes him the whole of the night to approach her, twisting up the cuffs of his shirt and trying his best to smooth back the curl of his hair that refuses to lay flat, his voice nervous when he speaks to her, choking dry in the back of his throat and squeaking.  


"Have some of this,” she whispers, eyes bright with laughter as he tries his best to swallow the stolen whiskey burning the back of his throat. “A proper drink,” she comments, making him drink the last of it.  


“Thank you,” he coughs back, fingers brushing Mary’s and flooding heat to his face as he hands her the drink back, smiling shyly.  


“You’ll learn to drink like a pirate,” she laughs, a sprinkling of what looks like gold dust falling from the pins of her curled hair and onto the floor between them.  


-  


The first time he kisses Mary it’s like his whole world is blown apart.  


He can see the whole of his future right there inside of her when she blinks back at him, endless opportunities hidden right behind her eyes, adventures and secrets in the crook of her smile, the smallest of dimples that appear whenever she laughs like a hidden kiss.  


And this, he thinks, this is his future. This will be his story.


End file.
